Menu

Category Archives: Uncategorized

In the photo above, demonstrators protest against U.S. President Donald Trump during the Women’s March inside Karura forest in Kenya’s capital Nairobi, January 21, 2017. Photo: REUTERS/ NYT: Thomas Mukoya, Nairobi

As we settled into bed on the Sunday night after the January 21 Global Women’s March, my husband read a post that had been shared on a family member’s Facebook page. The gist of the post was that several million women, men, and children who marched did not speak for the post’s original author, Brandi Atkinson, about whom I’ve been able to find little.

Now, I come from a large family containing every brand of spiritual beliefs, gender preference, and political persuasion. We’re spread around the country, but manage to get together fairly regularly and, by avoiding intensely political conversations, we are generally affable and fond of one another. Yet after my husband and I turned out the lights that night, I laid awake for hours, my thoughts racing. Should I:
A. comment on the piece (which my relative had shared, not authored),
B. block this beloved relative’s future posts (which not only feels passive aggressive but runs counter to my belief in the necessity of healing our country’s dangerous red-blue rift through open respectful dialogue),
C. try to figure out why the post bothered me so much, or
D. explore the genuine feelings of someone who views our nation and our place in the world differently from me, with the aim of finding respectful dialogue.

It took me several days to decide that option C—deciphering my emotional reaction to the post—had to precede option D—learning how to become aware of the origins of my fellow citizens’ beliefs and feelings, when to respond with respect, and when to let go.

What came to me was that all those women and men who marched around the world on January 21 did march for me. They marched for me when I was too sick to march for myself. I am in treatment for breast cancer. I’d had two good days in a row, and Friday night my husband and I had excitedly planned to attend the March, where we would meet our group, what time, the best public transit route.

As Chicago’s crowd grew, it became apparent that actual marching was impossible. Far from being cancelled, the rallies and speeches occurred throughout. Credit: CBS News Chicago

But each day is an exercise in acceptance of whatever reactions to chemo decide to show up. I woke up January 21 laid low by a deep chest cold (I’m also being treated for 2 lung diseases). My husband reminded me that the oncologist warned my white blood count would reach its nadir 10 or so days after chemo, coinciding exactly with the Women’s March. I spent most of the day in bed, receiving periodic texts and photos from friends at the March, which in my adopted city of Chicago was 250,000 strong.

Was every person there, every sign hoisted, an issue that spoke to the coming challenges I feel most passionate about? Not all, of course; but many were. Among them, the new administration’s commitment to:

repeal constitutional protections guaranteeing a woman’s right to determine her own medical treatment;

bar entry of refugees on the basis of religion and nationality, even though immigration attorneys are on record that it’s hard to imagine ways to make the current 2-year vetting process more stringent in ways that will guarantee more protection of US citizens, and in fact decades of experience and war demonstrate that more Americans will be put in danger from extremists by such actions, not to mention that this past weekend’s executive order doing just that goes against the founding principles of our beloved nation;

and repeal of the Affordable Care Act, to be replaced with we know not what, an action with vast consequences that will deprive millions of essential care, an obligation my spiritual convictions tell me we must not shirk.

I will not deny the shortcomings of ACA. But I believe that a wealthy, intelligent country like ours can revise what we have to make it work better by:

Stiffening the penalties for those who refuse to participate, so that they are at least equal to the annual premiums of a basic policy. The failure of healthy individuals to join the pool is largely responsible for increased premium costs.

Creating firm guidelines and obligations for all insurance companies to offer decent, humane, affordable polices, and to share the wealth created by the commodification of healthcare, to stop the penurious practices that deprive the poor as undeserving and reward the wealthy.

And lastly, for the US Senate and House of Representatives permanently abolish the provision for their own lifetime health insurance, for which all us pay, and agree to purchase their insurance the same way we do: by going on the market, turning to ACA and state-run exchanges, paying their own premiums, for life. When they reach the appropriate age, Medicare is there for them.

Since learning I had breast cancer, I’ve reached a new level of gratitude for things I often took for granted. I have a warm home, food in the refrigerator, a family who loves me, a life partner who will do anything humanly possible to support me through this journey. And I have health insurance that, since the Affordable Care Act was passed, cannot be denied me because of pre-existing conditions, cannot charge me more because I’m a woman, cannot use the results of the genetic testing requested by my doctor to help her provide me with better care. For now, that is. As of the inauguration of the new president, we may soon find all that gone. We may wake up in the wealthiest nation on earth—the only developed country in the world—which does not believe healthcare is a basic human need, no less important than food and shelter, but rather treats it as a commodity to be doled out only to those who can pay for for it.

So there’s my work on discovering why Brandi Atkinson’s post wrenched my gut so hard. Now comes the work of finding empathy and understanding and being open to respectful dialogue.

I’m happy that Brandi feels like an empowered woman in control of her body, of her speech, and so much more. I wonder if she has found her own path to gratitude, if she has taken stock of our country’s history of protest, a wonderful tradition enshrined by our founders, and if she has gratitude for legislators who listened to us when we demanded they protect our right to vote, to speak freely and publicly, to consult with our doctors on medical decisions and make choices to take care of our bodies—choices that have nothing to do with governing bodies or anyone wanting to restrict our bodily privacy—to name a few of the changes that came about for women in the last hundred years, rights that had always belonged to men.

I hope to hear from many of you, on all sides of any issues you feel passionately about. In more ways than one, I am ready for the healing to begin.

Note: AllenBWest.com is a website administered by Lt Col West of US Army, decorated officer, one-time congressman, Fox News commentator, and current Executive Director and Chairman of the Board for National Center for Policy Analysis, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit nonpartisan public policy research foundation. According to allenbwest.com ‘They Didn’t Speak for Me” was originally posted on a Facebook page, Conservative Women Rock, with the author identified simply by the initials ‘SH.” Later a woman named Brandi Atkinson claimed to have written the piece in response to a Facebook post by a contributing editor at the alt-right Breitbart.com, Milo Yiannopoulos. Yiannopoulos’s next book, coming from Simon and Shuster’s imprint Threshold Editions, was considered so incendiary by author Roxanne Gay that she pulled her own next book from Simon and Shuster.

Chicago is the lover Jessa Crispin returns to from time to time. Her new book, The Creative Tarot: A Modern Guide to an Inspired Life, reminds me of my on-again/off-again affair with the Tarot years ago, which had less to do with prognostication than with diversion, a rerouting for writing projects that seemed hell-bent in unpromising directions. A fictional character I was involved with at the time had sent me to the deck for research, which led to multiple trips to NOLA’s Jackson Square and some dispiriting meetings in claustrophobic rooms entered through a curtain of beads. But that’s another story.

Crispin, founder of Bookslut.com, tells of her own visit to a “skilled reader” who helped her re-see her life during a particularly difficult time, so that it became a story she could tell differently. She was hooked after that, not on the cards’ use as a window to the future, but as a tool for laying out the bones of story.

Indie Bound calls The Creative Tarot “a hip, accessible, and practical guide for artists and creative people looking to tarot for inspiration.” The book gets the coveted star-rating at Publishers’ Weekly, which says, “Crispin presents a persuasive case for the tarot’s usefulness to writers and artists; her many insights into the creative life as well as her dazzlingly wide array of examples throughout make this a valuable reference for readers not remotely interested in the ‘psychic arts’.”

Near VCCA, the Cold/Cole Mountain Trail (portion of Appalachian Trail) George Washington National Forest, VA

After a five-week writing residency at Virginia Center for Creative Arts (Thank you, VCCA!) and a quiet holiday interlude, I’ll be back on the road next month.

Carnegie Center, Lexington KY

February 9, Carnegie Center for the Creative Arts, Lexington KY. I’m excited to be included in the Kentucky Great Writers Series with novelist Tania James and poet Tom Hunley. Tom is the director of Steel Toe Books Press and a professor at Western Kentucky University. Tania’s novels have been included on multiple Best of lists. Be sure to visit their websites before you come to our reading on Tuesday Feb 9 at 7:30pm. Also, if you want to join in the community reading before hand, arrive at the Carnegie Center around 6 to sign up for open mic, which begins at 6:30 (3-minute limit). A book signing follows the reading, with books available for purchase from The Morris Book Shop.

March 5, the 10th Annual Kentucky Women’s Book Festival will take place, an all-day event at the University of Louisville, sponsored by The Women’s Center. What an honor to be presenting with so many stellar Kentucky literary women. The full schedule will be up soon, so check their website for updates.

March 27 begins a month-long residency at the Vermont Studio Center to work on my new novel. I am eternally grateful to supporters of the arts and the good people who keep these places running. The quiet environment, space, and time to devote to our work is a blessing for artists, writers, composers, etc who are fortunate enough to attend.

Speaking of novels, a limited number of 1st Edition hardcovers of Cementville are still available. In addition to the new softcover, Cementville can be downloaded as an E-Book for Kindle, Nook, Kobo, and Apple iBook formats.Booksellers, please consider stocking Cementville in softcover—and there are a limited number of 1st Edition HC still available too. Let me know what I can do to help your efforts to get great reads into the hands of your customers. We writers appreciate all you do on behalf of the literary community.Book groups, perhaps the modest softcover price will encourage you to add Cementville to your reading list. I love meeting with book clubs, and have met with many around the country over the past year. Let me know if you’d like me to join you via Skype or in person if I’m in your area.And dear readers, thank you for picking up my novel. I love hearing from you! Please tell your friends!Purchase Cementville wherever books are sold:Your local independent bookstoreBarnes and NobleAmazon

I just received some bittersweet news in my email now: John Rich will be leaving his post at the Guild Literary Complex. John has been a gentle and moving force on the Chicago lit scene, bringing us years of fantastic cross-cultural programs at the Guild. The good news is that he has been hired on at the Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago​ as Manager of Performance Programs. So Chicago hasn’t lost him after all.

Here’s the brief bio posted earlier this year at NewCity when John was selected as one of Lit 50 2015: Who Really Books in Chicago (I’m sure I was one of many people who nominated him for the list):

“Prior to his current role at the Guild Literary Complex, John Rich founded the Chicago Book Expo, which supports local publishers, independent bookstores and authors of every genre. Working alongside Michael Puican, president of the Guild Literary Complex, Rich has helped the entity branch into various literary and artistic events throughout the city and across the nation, most recently partnering with the International Cities of Refuge Network, an organization that provides safe havens for persecuted authors and artists across the globe and creating the local programs 25 Writers to Watch and BrooksDay, an annual reading and celebration of the poems of Gwendolyn Brooks.”
(Read about the other 49 on the 2015 list at: NewCityLit)

Thank you for your work on behalf of the literary community, John, and good luck to you!

Booksellers, please consider stocking Cementville in softcover—and there are a limited number of 1st Edition HC still available too. Let me know what I can do to help your efforts to get great reads into the hands of your customers. We writers appreciate all you do on behalf of the literary community.Book groups, perhaps the modest softcover price will encourage you to add Cementville to your reading list. I love meeting with book clubs, and have met with many around the country over the past year. Let me know if you’d like me to join you via Skype or in person if I’m in your area.And dear readers, thank you for picking up my novel. I love hearing from you!

New events recently added to the 2015 schedule:

Tuesday, June 23, 7pm, The Center for Fiction, 17 E. 47th Street, NYDylan Landis (Rainey Royal), Rebecca Makkai (The Hundred Year House), and Paulette Livers (Cementville) will read and talk with the audience about our novels, all released in paperback this spring. Rebecca is also celebrating a brand new story collection, Music for Wartime!

Monday, June 29, Story Studio Chicago. 4043 N. Ravenswood, #222, Chicago, IL 60613, 773.477.7710. I’ll be teaching a one-night class on the creation and uses of character backstory in fiction, an introduction to the full-session class coming this fall. Visit the Story Studio website to register.

Thursday, July 9, Squaw Valley Community of WritersClick the Squaw link to see the incredible lineup of faculty and special guests at this historic summer workshop (July 6-13). Some other Squaw alumni and I will be reading and discussing our work Thursday night at an open-to-the-public event.

Saturday, July 18, “Exploring the Writer’s Craft” at the Louisville campus of Indiana Wesleyan University. I’ll be leading a session at the fourth annual conference sponsored by Women Who Write—this day-long event is open to member and non-member women, as well as men and students.

May 20, 7pm I’ll be part of a diverse trio of writers — and we hope you will be there — for an evening of conversation, sipping, and reading at one of Chicago’s favorite venues, theBook Cellar. If you’ll be in the area, please come. The Book Cellar has a cafe atmosphere: in addition to books, you can also purchase wine, beer, coffee, and lovely treats.

Jennifer Jordanis the author of Edible Memory, examines the ways that people around the world have sought to identify and preserve old-fashioned varieties of produce. Jordan interviews farmers who are devoted to restoring heirloom fruits and vegetables and offers a powerful retelling of our many historical connections with these foods, from the heirloom tomato (now ubiquitous with the farm to table movement) to antique apples; changing tastes in turnips and related foods like kale and parsnips; and the poignant, perishable world of stone and tropical fruit. Along the way she reveals the connections—the edible memories—these heirlooms offer for farmers, gardeners, chefs, diners, and home cooks. She is associate professor of sociology at the University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee.

Angela Doll Carson is a poet and essayist whose work has appeared in Burnside Writer’s Collective, Image Journal’s Good Letters, St Katherine Review, Rock & Sling Journal, Ruminate Magazine’s blog, Elephant Journal and Art House America. You can also find her writing online at Mrsmetaphor.com. If you enjoy the writing of Anne Lamott, check out her newly released memoir: Nearly Orthodox: On being a modern woman in an ancient tradition. From Catholic schoolgirl to punk rocker to emergent church planter, Angela Doll Carlson traveled a spiritual path that in many ways mirrors that of a whole generation. She takes us with her on a deep and revealing exploration of the forces that drove her toward Orthodoxy and the challenges that long kept her from fully entering in.

Megan Stielstra at a Second Story performance. Photo courtesy of Julie Sadowski for Grayscale Studios.

Poets & Writers Live is coming to Chicago on Saturday, June 20. If you have not yet registered, you can sign up today—before May 15—for the Early Bird reduced price of $60— a whopping 50% off. Space is limited. P&W has put together an outstanding list of writers and publishing professionals for a day of learning, listening, and inspiration.

From coffee at 8AM to a Literary Mixer from 6 to 7PM, it will be a packed day, in the company of other writers. Chicago’s impressive lit scene is well-represented, including Stuart Dybek, Megan Stielstra, Lindsay Hunter, and more. Just a few of the others on the program:

Literary agents Jeff Kleinman and Renée Zuckerbrot will join publicist Michael Taeckens and Kevin Larimer, editor in chief of Poets & Writers, for a critique of three writers’ elevator pitches.

Melissa Faliveno, associate editor of Poets & Writers Magazine, will lead a discussion with Victor Giron of Curbside Splendor, Adrienne Gunn of TriQuarterly, Jeff Pfaller of Midwestern Gothic, and Don Share of Poetry magazine about the kind of work they publish, plus practical advice on how to establish successful working relationships with editors.

by David Loyn, Forward by John Simpson
Nonfiction, 460 pages. Published 2011 by Summersdale, UK

I picked up this book when I was in London last fall visiting the Frontline Club, having learned about this organization while doing research for a new novel. Frontline (unrelated to the PBS television series) was founded by a handful of Brits during the Soviet-Afghan War—all of them freelance correspondents: writers, photographers, videographers, filmmakers, etc. Journalists who are not on staff at major news outlets often jump into conflict hot spots with no funding, no insurance, and no support of any kind. This book describes the birth of a freelance agency specifically set up for such war correspondents. Frontline’s founders conceived it as a for-profit business—or rather, one that would in time earn a profit. With pooled resources, they started an agency through which footage, stills, and writing could be sold to the BBC and other news organizations. As time went on, finances became increasingly problematic. A telling illustration of the difficulty of making a go of it: In the 1990s, footage that brought £700 could continue earning a videographer more money through the sale of usage to other outlets, including burgeoning Internet sites. By 2003 that fee was halved, and broadcasters demanded more control, including Internet rights—for no extra dough. The Frontliners eventually had to face the music, calling it quits as a business early in the Iraq War. Worse than the money lost and the impressive work that was (by and large) poorly compensated, Frontline lost members in some of the most violent places on the planet, deep in the heart of war zones many news organizations hesitate to send their own staff correspondents.

The good news is that Frontline perseveres, even if in an entirely different guise. The Frontline Club is a charity with a mission to support worthy causes, such as the Frontline Fund, raising money for the families of fixers killed or injured while working with the international media. Housed in a London building a stone’s throw from Paddington Station, the ground floor is an outstanding restaurant where you may spot international journalists —provided you know what they look like—and can view an impressive photographic collection. (If you go, save room for the sticky toffee dessert.) Upstairs, the clubroom is a large, comfortable spot for members to gather, lamplit tables, worn leather cigar chairs, and walls lined with cases of memorabilia, letters, antique implements, and more photographs. It was a quiet night when my husband David and I visited, so we were privileged with a private tour. The top floor of the building provides low-cost lodging for international journalists traveling through London. Frontline Club members enjoy reciprocal membership in other press organizations and have access to lectures, films, and workshops and training in safety practices and dealing with trauma—something that has become even more critical in recent years, given the accumulation of kidnappings and brutal murders of war correspondents.

The 4-star rating I give this book at Goodreads was not arrived at easily. I generally reserve 5 stars for books in which the language grips me hard. There were times that I wanted to reach into the text, nudge and shape its direction and tone, or ask the author for more information, for clarity in spots that left me dangling and confused. Story lines holding promise for deeper exploration occasionally end abruptly, causing this reader to lapse into a a frustrated huff and toss the book aside for a while. I always came back for more.

But make no mistake: This book is chock-full of truly moving stories, laugh-out-loud funny anecdotes, tragic miscalculations, and derring-do. There are eccentric renegades who risked everything—possessed of a passion to bring awareness of the true costs of war to a lackadaisical public. Some of these journalists left behind lineage, title, family castles, and so forth, modern swashbuckling types who make one think of George MacDonald Fraser’s “Lord Flashman” novel series. David Loyn brings them to life with descriptions of clothing, habits, dialogue, flaws and peccadillos. We feel skin prickling with the desert heat, the lurking danger, and the slap-happy recklessness of adrenalin junkies who might as well be juggling dynamite.

I’m glad to have found this book and this organization. If you follow news of conflict around the world, if you’ve wondered what attracts some to plunge into jeopardy, I recommend “Frontline: Reporting from the World’s Deadliest Places” without hesitation.

Sometimes characters speak to me out of the blue. They might introduce themselves in a line of dialogue, with a simple observation, a long internal monologue, a rant couched in outrage or delight or bewilderment or worry. I listen, record, let them have their say, and try not to force their hand, er, tongue. I’ll follow them long enough to figure out whether they’re taking me into their world or leading me down a dead end road. I’ve learned it’s better they remain mysterious to me for a while early on. If they have a story (and not just a lovely rant), their convoluted actions and thoughts will eventually challenge me, pushing me toward a level of discomfort that I must write my way out of. Maybe I have to release or reveal something I prefer to hold onto. It’s challenge that allows me to stick with characters for the length of time it takes to make a story, much less a novel. They move into my head, complete with furniture and problematic relatives and entire wardrobes, as if laying claim to a room in my brain. No matter how unpleasant they might have been at times over the months or years we spend together, I’m always a bit melancholy when they pack up and move out.

Perhaps because I tend to fall in love with characters, they come to me somewhat easily. It’s plot that gives me fits. Those characters whose foibles and mysteries I’ve indulged must, at a certain point, cough up their rent. I prefer bartering: in exchange for my brain space, they help me with plotting. Plot evolves when characters generate an action, or are acted upon, and are drawn into a troubling of the waters in their particular, idiosyncratic lives.

You know how athletes talk about ‘getting into the zone,’ where no pain is felt and the athlete is one with his sport and his body? I was always jealous of that, until it occurred to me that the same thing can happen in writing. If I’ve hung in there through the grind and the muck, kept butt-in-chair even when the story seemed to be going nowhere and taking its sweet time getting there, a moment comes in which the characters and I are mutually implicated in the rise and fall of the trouble. I’ve become entangled as I write them toward their eventual untangling. If I do my part well, it’s possible a reader somewhere in the future will also become entangled, invested in the character’s release.

I’ve heard this described as the story fulfilling its compact with the reader, giving them a return on their investment, through a resolution that satisfies the human need for release. Resolution can arrive in a number of ways. Knowing this does not, I’m sorry to say, make arriving at one any easier for this writer. Landing an ending (without the wheels coming off or, to stay with the athlete metaphor, without a sprained ankle) is perhaps even more of a struggle for me than plotting. Sometimes the best way through what easily mushrooms into paralyzing anxiety is to dive into a methodical study of works I admire.

Close readings of satisfying stories shows me that various kinds of resolution can blur and overlap, even in a single story. The most successful endings, the ones resolved in a way that feels ‘earned’, come about when seeds are planted early and subtly, evolving organically, as their tendrils weave through plot. The polar opposite of satisfying is the resolution that feels appended, like a requisite afterthought or a tidying up. On the other hand, a surprise ending that at first seems to come out of nowhere—can compel a reader to continue thinking and drawing connections after he’s left the story, brewing a unique satisfaction of its own.

Below are some of the notes I made while rereading, with an eye toward resolution, several very different writers and various lengths of work. (In italics is the type of resolution I think the story employs, followed by the title and author.) Maybe some of you will find a useful bit here or there your own work. Maybe you’ll disagree vehemently with my reading of these stories. As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts. What endings have stuck with you?

1. A change occurs in the protagonist: E.g. “Soldier of Fortune” by Bret Anthony Johnston. Whether subtle interior psychic change or dramatic shift in beliefs, whether brought on by others’ actions or by the character’s own folly, through maturation or aging, this sort of resolution features a change after which nothing will be the same again. Johnston’s story, narrated from a distance of some years, looks back at the change effected upon the narrator during adolescence through his interactions with a neighbor.

2. Dramatic changes occur for other characters, beyond the apparent protagonist: E.g. The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers. In the wake of the actions of the central character, four other characters adjust their lives, having spent a year observing him, thinking about him, talking to him, and using him as canvas for their longing. A sense of development across a community can arise organically through this sort of development.

An insight is received by a character:E.g. “The Dead” by James Joyce. Joyce liked the term epiphany, a now somewhat fraught word, perhaps from overuse, perhaps from being co-opted and commodified in the vast spiritual marketplace of self-help. Sometimes it isn’t the protagonist who submits to an insight, but an ancillary character. Sometimes it isn’t anyone in the story at all, but rather the reader whose perceptions shift. This takes many forms: from small revelations about one’s own character to acceptance of a hard truth about family, society, life itself.

A decision is taken after an event or insight, resulting in action: E.g. Slammerkin, by Emma Donoghue. A novel has the luxury of time and space, allowing the accumulation of inciting incidents that ultimately shape a resolution. Societal injustice and cruelty, compounded by tragic choices—if choice is a power Donoghue’s protagonist can be said to have—cannot lead to any other action than the one taken. In Donoghue’s capable hands, empathy for this bedeviled young woman is so strongly forged that, even as we steel ourselves for the inevitable ending, our breath is taken away through the last pages.

A decision or insight is considered, then not taken: E.g. “Silence” by Alice Munro. Munro has been called a master of the unresolved story. But doing nothing about the trouble, walking away from it, is in itself a decision, so I would argue that there is in fact resolution here. Munro’s hyper-competent protagonist, Juliet, handles the trouble in her life—her daughter’s estrangement—with an attitude worthy of Pangloss: I’ve got this; don’t worry about me; everything works out for the best. Sure, sadness will show up now and then, Juliet seems to be protesting; she will manage. Some readers see little difference between “a decision considered but not taken” and “absence of resolution” (discussed below). But the ground from which Dan Chaon’s story emerges is vastly darker than Munro’s. The resolution of each story is intricately woven from the beginning: for “Silence,” it is attached to character; for “Prosthesis” it is attached to atmosphere.

Lastly, the absence of resolution: E.g. “Prosthesis” by Dan Chaon. Sometimes verisimilitude nails a story arc to an absolute. In this case: life’s troubles are irresolvable. Even an untidy resolution is doomed to ring false. Chaon’s protagonist reflects on the random meetings and “small, offhand choices” that make a life; she’s disturbed, even as she accepts the lack of resolution. We can call it an insight, even if it’s just a “meh” insight, and Chaon is no more satisfied with this newsflash than we are. We could push a little harder, looking for resolution, and say that in turning away from her possible pasts and reminding herself that her husband is a good man, the protagonist takes a decision when she steps into his arms—until Chaon waylays her (and us) with “her possible pasts crackling behind her like a terrible lightning, branches and branches . . . ” Fear grips her (and us) even as she leans into the warmth of her husband’s neck. We have no choice but to feel “the pulse of other choices, other lives, opening up beneath her.” The contentment and safety we wish for is ruptured by the inescapable randomness of life, threatening to strike from behind and ready to swallow us in its open maw below. The story’s final chilling words make clear that there will be no summing up, no denouement: “. . . endless, and then nothing.” What troubles Chaon’s protagonist is anything but resolved.